”...the thing is, once something goes wrong, forever after you know that something CAN go wrong. Up until then, we're all blessed with kind of an ignorant sense of invincibility...

“None of us know what's going to hit us out of the blue, or when, but once we get winged by something, I think, we are all a little bit more fearful...

“The passage of time helps, and with enough time, we regain some of that feeling of invincibility.

Think of today's post as an extension, a follow-up to Wednesday's which was little more than a jump-start for the many thoughtful, useful and inspiring reader comments about what comes after recovery from a serious disease.

The quotation above is one of them, left by TGB reader Patty-in-New-York who nailed my pre-cancer sense of invincibility. Until that diagnosis last June, I thought I understood what it is like to face a life-threatening illness.

Wrong. I didn't have a clue.

The long weeks of recovery from surgery taught me about disability. About giving over my independence to the kind people who helped me during that time with the everyday, ordinary necessities of living. About constraints on the physical things I could do. And about how those new limitations gave me a smaller world view than I had before or want to have.

Isn't it interesting how, when the doctor hands you a terrible diagnosis or an outside force, an accident for example, leaves you with a broken hip or worse, you are plunged into the world of the sick in no more than a minute, but it can take weeks and months after you have healed to recover your place in the world of the healthy.

Or, as Patty-in-New-York suggests, you arrive at a different kind of normal. I doubt I will ever feel invincible again but since I wrote Wednesday's post (on Tuesday), I received an unexpected boost toward whatever my new normal will be.

On Wednesday morning, I met with the surgeon who performed the Whipple Procedure on me in June. As regular readers know, on Monday this week, a CT scan had matched earlier blood tests in showing my body to be clean of cancer.

A good-sized part of me had never expected that and as I mentioned on Wednesday, I wanted to celebrate but somehow wasn't feeling it. That changed when the surgeon told me in person, face-to-face, that there is no cancer, “Go live your life,” he said.

Although I didn't know it until that moment, it was important to me to hear that sentence out loud, not in a written scan analysis. To be reminded again that the remarkable doctor who, with his great knowledge of pancreatic cancer and his excellent surgical team, spent 12 hours on his feet last June, 12 hours that saved my life.

After meeting with him, I wept and I rejoiced and I had lunch with a friend and then I went home and celebrated by dancing to Joe Cocker singing live in a 1992 concert, Cry Me a River.

It will take a little more time but now I know I'm going to be just fine.

I'm slowly reading the wonderful book by Viktor Frankl "Man's Search for Meaning," which is his personal vision about how to live, regardless of circumstances. In this particular section I'm currently reading, he speaks of how it is through suffering that man is able to experience a depth and realization of oneself not usually available otherwise.

This he considers a gift, a golden opportunity.

Congratulations, Ronni, you've been instrumental throughout this episode of your life. Continue on, Lady, and thank you again for keeping us walking and running, while hoping, despairing and cheering, alongside.

Glad that you are getting the full realization of the miracle of recovery. The problem we have is how to keep it. The goal is not to restore that sense of "invincibility" that we all had as young people. We know better. But how maintain that grateful stance that you have one more day, even one more hour, to live this life, whatever it may bring. Too soon, the miracle of recovery becomes the expected status quo and we take our miracle for granted.

Well, I have an app for that. It was written about in the Atlantic Monthly in January, 2018 and it's called WeCroak. Five times a day, your phone will send you a simple message "Remember you are going to die." If you choose, you can swipe onto a quotation that relates to the "Remember..." statement. That's all the app offers. It's simply a modern way to follow the Buddhist suggestion that focusing on death at least 5 times a day tends to sharpen your appreciation for life and for this present moment.

I've used the app for about a month, and most of the time, just looking at the now familiar line "Remember you are going to die" gently prods me out of my normal tendency to wallow in the past or worry about the future. I think instead of what is my present status. Many times I have a few minutes of gratefulness for what I can still do (I'm 77 years old and have lots of ailments). And that maybe it's time to dance!

So happy for you, Ronni! So great that you CAN get back to living in the good sense. In relation to the invincible thread, my youngest son (now 42 years old) just received the "you are fired" message from his job - the first time this has happened to him and I believe he might have felt he was invincible - that, that wouldn't ever happen to him. He is processing the news, but it devastated him and "told" him that he is not competent............not a good message for someone who has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. On a personal note re the invincible thread, I had 2 melanoma spots removed 2 years ago and I now know that there is a possibility for melanoma .............. something that I had never thought of before.

One of my best friends died of pancreatic cancer, so I'm delighted on her behalf to hear of someone beating that terrible disease. And I'm glad on my behalf because I love reading your blog! And, of course, I'm delighted on your behalf too(!)

"Go live your life." I'd have become a blubbering idiot upon hearing that from my surgeon. I got chills just reading it. Four little words with such huge impact. Hugs, Ronni, for your wonderful, wonderful news.

Thank you for sharing your doctor’s magnificent orders! And for sharing —bravely, openly the often terrifying, hideous, painful steps along your journey from first feeling yukky till going on and living your life right now! Xx

I'm so glad for you, dearest, most generous Ronni. And you are fine, and you will be fine, we are all fine, with our gimps and aches and terrors, and living on the edge moment to moment. We are fine in our pain, in our wheelchairs, in our solitude and loneliness, in those frightening night moments or hours.

Yay! It's so good that you can rejoice in your return to health, but, perhaps, not to invincibility. I call it "The Beast", and it lurks forever more just around the next corner, waiting to hack off a piece of healthy life again. It happened to me again and now I'm struggling in a painful trip back to health, but I'll get there too. So, YAY ! for you! May you dodge the Beast for a long, long time!

Wow! So happy for you, Ronni! Our TGB community needs you to keep us informed and inspired! I hardly think about my bout with colon cancer anymore, but I have had a number of colonoscopies with no issues so maybe that's why I don't. However going through that scare resulted in me changing my career (back into teaching) which turned out to be a wonderful part of my life before I retired! And I am STILL "teaching" as a volunteer with be SMART, saving kids' lives!

For almost 70 years I led a charmed life which gave me the sense of invincibility that you mentioned. While friends and family discussed their meds and surgical procedures, I had nothing to contribute. When each of my two sisters died at 69 it didn't seem to have anything to do with me.

But two minor events last year changed that - relatively minor non-elective surgery and a fall halfway down our stairway. Suddenly I am overly careful, staying home from activities I previously attended , clinging to the bannister, afraid to walk outside when there are minor snowfalls or icy puddles, fear when the dog pulls a little on a walk.

Just returned home and could not wait to check back here today. The very best news I have had in a long, long time. Wishing you everything you hope for in the next chapters of your life - new and improved - indeed you are!~ Hugs & Love. Regina

Congratulations, both on your full recovery from such a dire disease and for your continuing your blog to keep us followers up to date on your progress, physically and mentally. Thank you Ronni, you are a blessing to us all.

Joe Cocker! They just don't make them like that any more. Watching the video reminded me of what I love most about black women: their complete lack of embarassment about fat. And such a perfect song for dancing your joy about once again being able to just live your life. 👯 🎶🍷🍾

I'm sure this must have felt like a very long and arduous journey for you, but it strikes me as remarkable that you have already reached this place and received that awesome pronouncement and directive from your surgeon. It has been a privilege to have followed you throughout this experience. Your courage and strength have been an inspiration!

You deserve a parade. Wish I had the power to de-tRumpify that idea and have one in your honor instead. The Orange Apparition (aka Cadet Bone Spurs--I love that appellation!) has done absolutely nothing to earn a parade, especially since he'll make it all about him, not the military he would be purporting to "honor".

Wonderful words to hear! We see statistics quoted for so many things as you did, too, relative to survival with your initial diagnosis. Your outcome does suggest we can be wise to keep those numbers and percentages in perspective among the decision-making factors we consider toward our medications, treatment choices and expectations. (Important to keep in mind on all research, social and political studies, too). Those figures can sometimes be given excessive influence and color our thinking with fear, dictate the language we tell ourselves and what we believe.

Also, important to note your age did not deter the path you followed as I recall some of your early writings in which you might have intimated, or I interpreted, that at the age you are now, such a diagnosis and survival odds would have prompted you to forgo the route you followed. Glad you made the choice you did. I had two friends, a younger man 20 years ago and recently an older woman in her early 80’s, diagnosed with pancreatic cancer who survived only three months. I’ll look forward to your future commentary here. Hugs to you! Keep laughing!

So, so happy for your news. Carried your health in my heart everyday from reading your diagnosis. Lost others along the way; they went on as we all must. But Ronni, you are a tough one! Be well my friend.

Enjoy your new lease on life. What better place than New York City with spring just around the corner.
Thank you for giving me a place to read thoughtful words as well as a place to to place my words.
Last but not least - Thank you for Joe Cocker! Very different from Julie London's Cry me a River which I also love.